Permanence
by Writerforthem
Summary: Poltergeist hunt gone wrong. Not the first time, but definitely the worst. Dragging his brother into the emergency room in the middle of the night was not how this was supposed to go. rating for future chapters. warnings inside. AU for season 7.
1. Prologue

**So I'm working on two stories at the same time. Not really unusual for me. But be patient for updates for both. **

**I want to thank everyone for the comments on all of my stories. They're a joy to read. :)**

**I hope you guys like this one as much as the others. **

**AU after season 7. Dean didn't get sent to purgatory when Dick exploded.  
**

**Warnings for future wincest. **

**And of course, what seems to be a thing for me, hurt!sam.  
**

* * *

**Prologue**

There's blood everywhere. It's soaked through is hair. Through the shirt. Through his brother's fingers. Dripping on the floor. And it doesn't stop. It never stops. Even as his name is screamed over and over in horror. It doesn't stop. It drips on the seat. Through the automatic doors. All over the front of his brother's t-shirt. It still doesn't stop. Even as he's taken away.

There's blood everywhere. Older brother collapses in the hallway. Eyes following the form of the other until he's physically pulled to his feet and pushed into a chair. His hands are shaking. There's blood all over them. All over his shoulder that had cradled his brother's head. The shirt is soaked through. He doesn't even move as it's cut away and taken to be disposed of. Someone washes his hands.

He was in shock, they say. It's an hour later that he's aware of who is around him and where they had actually taken him. He may still be in shock. His hands still shake. They're clean now. But the stain will be there for a while. He's wearing a plain white hospital shirt now. His jeans are dotted with blood and the knees are soaked, but they're good enough to wait until he's able to change himself.

His eyes finally focus on the nurse that hasn't left his side. Probably in case he goes ballistic. She crouches next to his chair and tells him his brother is being taken care of. He lost a lot of blood but they're doing their best.

He nods. He knows all this. The usual. But not.

They leave him alone.

Sometime later, the doctor comes to see him. Tells him his brother almost didn't make it. He saved his life. Without the shirt pressed to his head, he would have bled out.

He nods. He knows all this. Common sense.

Possible brain damage.

He doesn't care. As long as Sammy is alive.

No way to know extent until he wakes up.

No kidding. "Can I see him?" It's the first time he's spoken since screaming the word "Help!" as he carried his good-as-dead brother through the doors. His voice is rough. Hoarse.

The doctor nods. "Follow me."

The world stops wobbling under his feet. It seems to finally slow down as he follows the doctor to Sam. Laying eyes on his brother, the shaking in his hands finally stops. "Sammy." He sits next to the bed.

There's a bandage wrapped around Sam's head. It would be comical in any other circumstance. As it is, blood has seeped through. And they've cut his hair.

Dean sadly runs his hand over a small, unwrapped area of his brother's head. It isn't shaved short here. But it's shorter than it's been since Sam was fifteen. The soft, short strands feel foreign against his fingers. "Sammy will hate it."

The doctor chuckles. "We apologize. But to see the damage, we had to shave the area. We just figured it'd be best to cut the rest short enough for that area to catch up. Not to mention keeping the rest of it out of our way."

Dean nods. He gently touches a tiny cut on his brother's jaw. "How bad?"

The doctor sighs. "It was deep. Brain trauma is almost certain for an injury like that. Though the skull did not crack very much, we believe it was pretty severe. Something could have protruded and done some damage to his brain. We'll just have to see how he is when he wakes up. If there seems to be a severe problem, we'll do an MRI."

"When will that be?"

Another sigh. "We can't know for sure."

Dean nods. "Okay."

"Let me know if you have any more questions. I'll come back when he wakes up. The nurses will take care of him." The doctor quietly leaves.

Dean closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the bed.

There's blood everywhere.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here finally is the first chapter! **

**It won't be a case fic, though there may be a case or two in it. **

**Mostly brother moments. Eventual slide into wincest. (you've been warned)**

**Hope you guys like. :)**

* * *

**Ch. 1**

He doesn't sleep much. Gives up when all he can see when he closes his eyes is blood. He doesn't want to sleep in case that feeling of overwhelming panic sinks its nails into him again. He hadn't felt that much despair since Cold Oak. He was sure it was happening all over again. There was just _too much blood._

"D'n."

It's been almost twenty-four hours since Dean sat next to Sam's hospital bed. He hadn't left for more than a minute or two at a time since. Couldn't stay away long with the memories of Cold Oak being dragged up again. So of course he's here when Sam wakes up.

"Sammy." He leans forward, hand latching onto his brother's. "How you feelin' buddy?" He reaches over to push the call button.

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little. "H-hurts."

Dean chuckles. "Hit your head pretty hard there." His strained smile leaves. "You really feeling okay? There was… God, there was so much blood."

Sam frowns, gripping Dean's hand tighter for just a second. "'M okay. Just f-fl…" he trails off with a frown. "Feeeels," he finally gets out. "Just feeeels like I got hit by a tu-cu-… tr…uck. Truck."

Dean feels his stomach drop out. He covers it up with a smirk. "Need to go back to kindergarten there, sport?"

Sam glares. "Just having bl-tu-tr-trul…" he trails off again, eyes changing from annoyed to glassy and worried in a second. "Dean."

Dean swallows the lump in his throat. "Having trouble talking, huh?"

"Dean?" It's a question this time.

Dean runs a hand through is short hair, spikes going in different directions. "Yeah the doctor said you could have… brain damage."

Sam lets out a strangled noise. "M-pre-per…"

"I don't know. He just said damage. Not whether it was permanent or not. He couldn't figure out the extent until you woke up."

Sam lets his head fall back, eyes squeezing shut with a whine.

"Hey. It's not all that bad. Just be glad it wasn't something worse, right? Hey. Sammy, please. I thought you were... Don't… don't freak out if this is all that's wrong. Okay?"

Sam looks back at him, eyes still glassy. But he nods. "Kay." His hands are shaking.

The doctor walks in then, smiling. "Well look who finally decided to wake up. How are you feeling, Sam?"

Sam looks to Dean.

Dean shakes his head, running his hand over his mouth before turning to the doctor. "He's having trouble talking."

The doctor frowns. "How so?"

Dean looks to Sam, who shakes his head. Dean sighs. "Say something Sam. Don't worry. We won't make fun of you. I know you're intelligent, idiot."

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's oxymoron. Then takes a steadying breath. "I know w-what I wi-waaant to say. But I c-can't say it thi-wo-wit…"

"Without," Dean interjects softly.

Sam nods. "St-stru-stut-tering." He finishes.

Dean looks back to the doctor. "Or he can't get it out at all. It's like the word gets scrambled somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He knows the word, he just can't say it."

Sam nods once, giving Dean a grateful smile and squeezing his hand again. He would have said all of that. Just getting it out is so exhausting.

The doctor nods, mouth in a tight line. "I think I know exactly what's going on here, but I think we need to go ahead and do a few tests."

"What is it?" Dean asks for both of them.

"It sounds like a form of Aphasia. A speech impairment. Damage to the frontal lobe. That nice crack on his head there seems to be in the right spot." A nurse comes in, and the doctor motions for her. "Can I see an extra piece of paper?" When handed one, he walks over and pulls a table over to the empty side of Sam's bed as she goes to check Sam's vitals. "Can you write answers for me? I want to see if it's the same in your writing."

Sam nods, taking the offered pen.

"Your brother said you were hiking. That you fell and hit your head."

Sam nods. 'On a rock' he writes. 'I tripped and fell.'

The doctor nods. "Good. That seems clear. Let's see if you can write some longer words." He thinks a moment. "Where are you living right now?"

'_At the Blue Moon Inn. We're on a road trip. Heard the hiking trails were nice this time of year. Of course I had to ruin it by being clumsy.'_

Dean chuckles, winking when Sam looks to him. It's a silent 'good job' to Sam's improvisation skills. "I'm just glad you're okay," he answers truthfully.

Sam gives him a soft smile, finally seeming to relax. Dean is right here. If anyone ever needs to understand something, Dean will be able to understand Sam and translate. At least until this gets fixed.

The doctor stands and writes some notes. "I'm no brain specialist, so I'm not qualified to make a diagnosis, though I'm sure it's a type of Aphasia. I'm going to refer you to someone and set an appointment. What time is good for you?"

Dean shrugs. "Anytime. We were on vacation."

"Right, right." He makes a few more notes. Then looks to Dean apologetically. "It's a tough break for sure." He looks to Sam. "But I'm very glad it was nothing worse. I think your brother here would have a break down."

Sam looks to Dean in amusement as Dean just snorts and looks down at his feet. Then he looks to the doctor. "Th-thanks."

The doctor nods, smiling in appreciation that Sam talked to him. "You guys can check out after tomorrow. We want to keep you here one more night for observation. I'll make that appointment for you and we'll see about fixing this, huh? If there aren't any other problems, we'll leave the option for an MRI up to the Speech pathologist I'll be sending you to if he thinks you need it. Otherwise, what's wrong is pretty straight forward. You're very lucky Sam."

Sam nods once, looking to Dean when the doctor leaves. "Dean?"

With only Sam in the room now, it's hard to keep the impending breakdown away. But Sam is the one who needs reassurance right now. He finally looks up, plastering a smile on his face. "You hungry? I could get the nurses to bring you something. Jello? We both know that that's all that's good around here."

Sam grips his hand, eyes pleading. "Dean." The one word that doesn't even show a hint of a stutter.

Dean sighs. "We'll fix this, Sam. Okay? We always do."

"W-what if it's pre-nem-pern…" he sighs in frustration.

"Permanent," Dean supplies.

Sam nods once. "Can't fix."

"It's not like it's the end of the world, right? Besides, I'm sure there's some type of speech therapy that can help your brain remember how to say words right. Huh? You'll be back to normal in no time."

Sam bites his lip. "If not?"

Dean pats his arm. "Don't plan on the worst, Sam."

Sam nods, looking away. The fear of Dean leaving him behind somewhere so he can continue hunting without his speech-challenged brother is real to him. Acting like FBI or any other alias to ask questions would be hard with an idiot who couldn't say words right. But he pushes his fear away for now. Dean's right. There's a chance this could still be fixed.

* * *

"Hey, you alright?"

Sam had made it out of bed without too much dizziness. Seeing himself in the mirror for the first time though… "Short."

Dean chuckles. "I know, buddy. But they had to practically staple your head shut. Kind of hard to do with the mop you had before." Inside, Dean's heart clenches at the way Sam looks forlornly at his reflection. It doesn't sit right with him either. Secretly, he liked Sam's long hair. It's just another part of Sam. Something that Dean would always take comfort in as familiarity.

Sam turns to him, crooked smile on his face. "Fix as it… groooows?"

Used to Sam's extending of words now, Dean barely even notices it. Just accepted it as Sam's way of making sure he says them right. "Of course. I won't want to be seen with a dude that has a perfect square shaved shorter than the rest of his hair."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Jerk."

Dean grins brightly. Another word that Dean is so glad Sam can still say perfectly. "C'mon. You feeling up to washing up a bit? No showers allowed yet, but I got you some little towels you can wash up with. That poltergeist really threw you. I'm sure you have dust on you still."

Sam nods with a snort. Then looks to Dean. "D-did you sh-ni-fin… fin-ish it?"

Dean nods. "I got it don't you worry. Then I ran to where it threw you and…" he shudders without control, turning to turn on the sink in an attempt to disguise the movement. "There was so much blood. Almost slipped in it when I got to you. They had to throw my shirt in bio hazard."

Sam moves over to Dean, hand resting on his back. "'m okay." If Dean is shaken over the sight of blood, then it had to be a lot. Blood seems to be a part of their lifestyle. It rarely ever bothers Dean. The fact that he's so shaken tells Sam that it was life threatening.

Dean nods, wetting the first little towel. "I know. Now sit." He lowers the toilet lid and pushes his brother down. "I'm gonna wash your face since you don't need to be getting your gigantic paws anywhere near your head."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Not f-five." He doesn't fight it though.

Dean chuckles. "And you didn't fall off a bike either. I think this warrants a little more care." He wipes Sam's face that's clear of bandages, gently going over the small cuts down the same side as the gash. He lets out an aggravated huff. "What did it throw you into?"

Sam shrugs, but keeps his eyes closed and head tilted back.

"How's it feeling?"

Sam holds up three fingers.

"Just a low throb then, huh? You let me know if it gets too bad. I'll get them to get you some more pain killers."

Sam gently knocks his knee into Dean's leg.

"Hey, man. I can't trust you to tell me sometimes."

Sam's eyes open now. He gives Dean a disapproving frown. "I'll l-let you know. T-this is pro-ip-impr…"

"Alright, alright, don't give yourself an aneurism. I get it. Stop trying to say big words."

Sam huffs. "Hate t-this."

"I know." Dean hates the frustrated sound of Sam's voice. His brother has always been brilliant. Not even being able to talk is probably torture for him. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. We'll get you fixed up in no time. And you'll be griping about my music and bad manners again."

Sam chuckles.

Dean pats his shoulder. "Alright. Your face is all pretty again, Francis."

Sam opens his eyes, rolling them as the stands.

"Shirt off. Let's see the rest of the damage."

Sam gingerly lifts his shirt, grunting in pain when he gets it up to his shoulders.

Dean moves in to help. "Alright. You're officially five years old again today little brother." He maneuvers Sam's limbs out of his way to get the shirt off, making Sam squeak a little. "You big baby."

Sam glares at him now that the shirt is finally off. "Hurts."

Dean chuckles. He turns his brother by a soft grip on his arms, looking at the bruises spotting his brother's side and back. No other cuts though. "Alright. You wanna wash the rest of yourself up now?"

Sam snatches the towel from him, going over his shoulders, down his arms, and over his chest. When he goes for his back though, he freezes with a gasp.

Dean takes the towel back without prompt, laying a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder to hold him still while his other moves over his back. Most of the dirt from the crappy old house had just made it barely up from his waist, but Dean makes sure to cover his whole back since Sam won't be able to have a real shower for a while. He tries to keep his thoughts clean as he works.

It's not the first time he's had to take care of Sam after a hunt. He goes through the same battle every time. He's not blind to how nicely Sam has grown up. Muscle has been gained and lost through the years as times changed. Dean was seriously worried about the Wall fiasco. How thin Sam got. Seeing his brother looking so vulnerable in that mental institute is on his list of top worsts.

Sam looks healthy now. Well, besides the recent injuries. He has a good tan after their short vacation in Louisiana after taking care of a few witches. It's very rare that they take down time, let alone go to a beach seeing as you can't really hide many weapons with such minimal clothing. But they did. Because Dean wanted to have some fun. Not at all because Sam used the puppy eyes.

As he moves lower to where the most dirt is, he freezes. Runs his thumb over the old scar right over his brother's spine.

Sam's breath hitches. He reaches blindly back, hand coming to rest on Dean's hip. "S'ok."

Dean rests his forehead on Sam's shoulders in a moment of weakness. "Just… been a while. And the other night… I thought it was happening all over again."

Sam nods.

"I know there's been worse. But… that was the first."

Sam's hand flexes where it rests. Giving understanding.

"All of that red all over my hands... And this time, I wouldn't be able to sell my soul. Because I know how that'd turn out."

Sam lets out a sigh. "Good."

Dean thumps his head down on Sam's shoulder.

Sam chuckles unapologetically.

They stand that way for an immeasurable amount of time, hovering so close but touching only by the points of Dean's head on Sam's shoulder and Sam's hand on Dean's hip.


	3. Chapter 2

**I put the notice up at the beginning, but I figured I'd put it here in case no one notices. But I've finally pinpointed where this is. It's an AU for season 7 where Dean didn't go to purgatory. Instead, Dick just exploded and they've been hunting since. All the details on Kevin and such will come later. The plan is to have it back on track with what most of Season 7 starts like by the final chapter.**

**Anyway, on with the story.**

* * *

**Ch. 2**

The next morning, Dean wakes from his spot bent over in his chair laying on the edge of the bed to Sam groaning. Lifting his head off his arms where they're crossed on the bed, he blinks up at his brother with tired, bloodshot eyes. "You need more meds?"

Sam nods.

Dean presses the button for more painkillers and stands to stretch out his tight muscles. He hates trying to sleep in a chair. But he hates the thought of leaving Sam here alone, more. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. You want anything?"

Sam looks tiredly up at him with a crooked smile. "J-ji-jello?"

Dean grins. "You got it."

When he returns, Sam is still awake, but drowsy. "Those are good pain meds, huh?" He chuckles when Sam groans in content. He opens the little Jello container and pulls the spoon out of the plastic before handing it over. "Here. Eat slow. You know how pain meds affect you."

Sam chuckles. "I can eat j-jello just f-fiiine, Dean."

Dean sips his coffee while Sam eats. Neither feel like filling the silence. It's early morning. Few nurses are walking around. The cafeteria had barely opened when Dean showed up. Dean just waits for his daily dose of caffeine to kick in.

It's when Sam's done with his Jello that he speaks up. "Dean."

"Hmm?" He looks to Sam.

"H-how are we g… go…ing to p-pay for all of t-this?" he asks worriedly.

Ah. There it is. He clears his throat.

"We n-c-can't sid-disr-"

"Disappear," Dean helps.

Sam nods. "Not w-when I'm…"

Dean nods, cutting in. "It looked so bad, I was sure either you weren't going to… that you wouldn't make it, or you'd be in here for a long time. So… I looked into Bobby's old insurance to make sure we'd be okay if we got stuck here. And I hacked in to change a few things to make sure it would match you."

Sam blinks. "You… w-what?"

Dean shrugs. "Figured he wouldn't mind if he were around. He wasn't invisible like we were and all I had to do was change a few things. We'll be fine. And what insurance doesn't cover, we have quite a bit stashed away from the witch hunt. So you are Mr. Robert Samuel Singer. I told the nurses I called you Sam after your middle name. Bobby's insurance is yours though."

Sam nods, still slightly stunned. But he remembers the grateful millionaire who practically hired them to take care of the witches that were after her when she realized who Sam and Dean really were. "How ch-m-much did she t-ca-acl-"

"Actually," Dean probes gently.

Sam nods. "Give us?"

Dean chuckles. "Three thousand."

Sam throws his arms up in the air. "And you n-di-didn't t-tell me?"

Dean shrugs. "Forgot." He laughs, holding up his hands when Sam glares at him. "Seriously. I just threw the bag of cash in the trunk and we went to the beach. The next day we were on our way here. I forgot I didn't tell you and I was going to bring up what we needed to get with it since our main stash was running out. New weapons or clothes or whatever. But now…"

Sam winces.

Dean sighs. "Don't do that. I'm not blaming you. It's not your fault. I'm just glad we have it. Let's just focus on what we need to get you good as new. Okay?"

Sam sighs. He looks around before motioning to the small notepad on one of the tables in the room.

Dean frowns. "Don't stop talking to me, Sam."

Sam shakes his head. "F-fas-ter," he explains.

Dean sighs, but relents, going to get the notepad. He knows Sam gets exhausted trying to talk everything out.

'_How much will the insurance cover?'_ Sam writes.

"Most of it, actually," Dean answers. "From the looks of it, he had a pretty good set up. And you know him and hospitals or doctor visits. He rarely used it. That's how I was able to change the info so easily. I didn't think you quite looked to be over fifty yet."

Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean chuckles. "They won't even remember him since he never used it around home. His account should hold up most of the costs for a while. So for now, we'll be able to get by. I'll be able to pay the pathologist if I get a job."

Sam frowns. _'You? Get a job?'_

Dean rolls his eyes. "We won't be leaving that town until you're done there, Sam. I need a job if I'm not going to be able to hustle pool. We'll be fine."

Sam bites his lip. _'Thank you.'_ He underlines it three times.

Dean looks to him with raised eyebrows. "You're thanking me? Really?"

Sam shrugs. _'I know you don't like staying in one place for long.'_

Dean huffs. "I'm perfectly capable of being civil."

Sam just looks at him.

"Shut up."

Sam grins. _'Didn't say anything.'_

Dean steals his notepad.

Sam stabs him in the hand with the pen.

Dean eventually steals the pen and manages to make blue marks all down Sam's arms that amuse the nurses when they come to check on him. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not anymore. Dean smirks from his chair next to the bed and lets himself relax for the first time in a long time. God, things are good between them right now.

* * *

"Robert?"

"S-sam," he corrects gently, smiling friendly at the nurse.

She chuckles, making a note on her sheet. "Sam it is, then. We have an appointment set for you tomorrow with one of the best speech language pathologists in the country just a few hours away. I have to say, you picked a good place for something like this to happen."

Sam snorts.

She smiles wryly. "I know. Not really something you'd pick to happen." She hands him some papers. "Here's the papers from your doctor. Everything in here is all you need when you go in tomorrow. Since we made the appointment for you, you won't need a referral."

Sam nods, flicking through the papers.

She looks to Dean. "Is this your…?"

"Dean," Sam answers, giving his brother a soft smile before looking back through the papers. Even if he only understands half of what he's reading.

Dean chuckles. He feels a warm feeling spread through him when he realizes that even though Sam stutters over his own three letter name, he still says 'Dean' perfectly. He pushes it away though. That's selfish. "I'm his brother."

The nurse turns to him. "I'll let you be in charge of his prescriptions," she says with a wink.

"Hear that, Sammy? I get to drug you up."

Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean takes the papers she gives him.

The nurse chuckles. "They're just two sets of painkillers. Stronger ones for the beginning, and lesser for as he heals. When the second set are gone, a few Advil will work just fine."

Dean nods. "Thanks." He looks to Sam. "No hiding pain. Got it?"

Sam looks to him, nodding solemnly.

Dean looks back to the nurse. "When are we allowed to leave?"

She smiles knowingly, resigned and used to patients asking that question. "Technically? Now. But of course we'd prefer if it were tomorrow morning."

Dean looks to Sam. "How you feeling, man?"

Sam looks to the nurse. "I w-want to go."

She shakes her head. "How'd I know you were going to say that?"

Sam smirks.

Dean smiles at the familiar face. It's good to see Sam relaxing into his own skin again. At least for the moment. "Do we have paperwork to fill out?"

It's another hour before Sam is cleared to go and he's wheeled out to the front where Dean pulls up in the impala. He chuckles as he walks up and sees Sam's scowl. "C'mon, Sam. You know it's hospital policy."

Sam huffs. "Still s-sucks." He looks miserable. And a little self-conscious.

Dean blinks when he finally realizes why, eyes catching the way Sam's own eyes dart around to see if anyone is looking at him. After getting Sam settled in his seat and thanking the nurse, his eyes scan the road as they head to the motel they were staying at before this whole mess happened. "Good thing I paid for the hotel all week in advance, right?"

Sam chuckles.

Dean sees what he's looking for two minutes away from the hotel and pulls into the parking lot.

Sam looks to him curiously. "Wi-waaaaall…. M-mart?"

Dean just smirks at him. "I'll be back in a few. Stay put."

Sam rolls his eyes. It's a Thursday night. Not the busiest night for shoppers. But he still sinks back into the seat and tries to not drag attention to himself inside the car. Looking at his reflection in the side mirror, he bites his lip. The white bandages stand starkly out against the dark interior and his tan skin.

He's never had the confidence his brother has. Sure he can fill up a room just as well when he tries. Draw all the eyes in a bar to him when he and Dean walk in some of the more hairy ones where he thinks it'd be best to establish his size and lack of fear. But out on a normal day? He lets Dean charm the ladies. Take the attention of the room.

Reaching up tentatively to run his fingers through his short hair, he lets out a forlorn sigh. As soon as he was able to fight with his dad, the cutting of his hair happened a lot less often, and with a lot left when it was done. Of course, Dean got used to being the one to do it. Sam wouldn't trust his dad to do it for sure.

Not talking to dad was normal. Not talking to Dean? Not only was it hard, but it hurt Dean a lot more. He never even had to threaten Dean though. Dean never cut his hair too short and he never made it stupid. Sam hopes that his brother can fix the mess it is now when his head starts getting better. He's always liked the false sense of security it's given him.

Ten minutes later his brother is back with a couple bags in his hands. "We needed supplies if we're going to be staying near that pathologist for a while. And…" he digs around in one of the bags. "I know it's in this one…" he mutters. He lets out a triumphant 'Ah ha!' when he finally finds what he's looking for. He throws it into Sam's lap. "Until you look normal again, Francis."

Sam picks it up and promptly feels the humiliating sting of tears in his eyes. He barely manages to blink them away as he looks to his brother with a grateful smile. "Dean." It's all he needs to say.

Dean shrugs, staring up the car. "Good thing it's October, huh? At least it won't be out of place."

Sam bites his lip, looking down for another minute before pulling the tag off the beanie and pulling it snugly over his head, mindful of the bandages. His shoulders relax.

Dean grins to himself when he sees the change. "Figured you'd need something to keep your head warm, seeing as how you're used to all of that hair." He figures he doesn't need to bring up how 'weird' the haircut is since his brother is already fretting about what it will look like once they take the bandages off.

"Th-thanks," Sam murmurs.

"Don't mention it," Dean answers a little quieter. The beanie looks different than it used to when Sam had his last one when he was younger. Dean misses the ends of Sam's hair that would stick out in odd, yet endearing, angles. But it's comforting to see that boyish look on Sam's face again.

When they get to the hotel, Dean hovers around Sam as they head in. "We're heading out early tomorrow to get there on time. You should probably get some rest."

Sam nods, already pulling off the shirt Dean had gotten out of the trunk for him at the hospital. It's old and soft, but he's worn it for two days. He pauses before turning to Dean as he lets it fall off his arms next to his duffel on the floor, exactly where he left it before the hunt. "Shower?" he asks tentatively.

Dean grimaces. "I can understand why you want to, but I wish you wouldn't. Not quite yet." His eyes run over Sam's body, noting the fading of the bruises. Most of them are sickly green now, just one a dark blue still. The impact point of something. He walks up to him.

Sam glares. "I f-feel r-sr-gr-oss."

Dean sighs, reaching out to turn his brother, putting his thumb on the bruise and lightly pushing. "They check you for broken ribs?"

Sam hisses at the sting of the bruise, but chuckles after. "Yes, Dean." He reaches up to pull off the beanie and throw it on the bed.

Dean pats Sam's side, pushing him towards the bathroom. "Let's see what we should do about a shower."

"We?"

Dean only chuckles and pushes Sam to sit on the edge of the counter in the bathroom. "Hold still." He gently reaches up and starts unwrapping the bandages. He throws them in the trash, letting out a hiss at the sight of his brother's head.

Sam seems to slump.

"That's why I got the beanie, man. This is pretty intense." He tilts Sam's head down to look at it. It bothers him that Sam is so docile. That he's letting Dean do what he wants. "Hey. You feeling alright?"

"Y-yeah." But there's that tone in it again.

"Sammy. Does it hurt?" He takes a closer look at the staples. They look bad. Worse than stitches. It's… like he said, intense. "You're hair is already growing back," he comments wryly.

"D-doesn't hurt," he answers. "J-just…"

"Hey. People get their head shaved for surgeries all the time. It'll be fine. And you have the beanie now."

"Thanks," Sam murmurs.

Dean sighs. "Okay. You can take a shower but be careful of this spot, man. It's healing, but you don't want to bother it."

Sam looks up at him. "I'll be c-cr-caaare-ful."

Dean nods. "Okay. If you're sure." He finds a towel under the sink and hands it to his brother. "I'll be right out here."

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles. "I know."


	4. Chapter 3

**Hey, guys! I know it's been a while. I also haven't given up on the last chapter or so of 'Here 'Till Forever'. I've just been hit hard from school starting. I hope you're still interested in this story and the end of that one which I'm working on but keep changing my mind about. But for now, here's chapter three. :)**

* * *

**Ch. 3**

He's sitting on the end of the bed flipping through channels on the TV when Sam emerges, towel around his waist. He does his best to push his mind into 'objective' mode. And the objective is to make sure Sam is okay and he gets to bed. "You feeling alright?"

Sam nods, gesturing to the TV. "S-silent?"

Dean shrugs. "Just didn't turn the volume up yet. The last people probably had it turned down."

"Mhmm." Sam rolls his eyes, turning to dig in his bag for clothes. "Los… lis-tening," he says.

Dean sighs, standing and going to dig in one of the Walmart bags. "Was not." He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a few new t-shirts. "Here."

Sam turns, smiling when Dean throws him the new clothes.

"Figured you needed a few new shirts and got a pair of sweatpants seeing as how your last ones were ruined months ago." He turns away from the grateful look to give Sam some privacy to pull his clothes on as he clears off his bed. "We need to wrap your head, too."

Sam makes a noncommittal grunt.

Dean chuckles. "Just for a few more days. And we'll have to go back to get those staples removed. I'm not even going to try to do those."

Sam sighs.

Dean turns to see him pulling his shirt down the rest of the way. "What?"

"Hate sopitals." He blinks. "Hos-pit-als."

Dean chuckles, meeting Sam's eyes to make sure his brother can see it's a loving laugh, not making fun of him for the mixed up word. "I do too. But I'll let the professionals handle this for once."

Sam nods and sits on the end of the bed, fingers fiddling with the ends of his shirt. "Dean?"

Dean pauses his digging in their medical supplies. He looks over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"W-what… what if I di-don't get b-bi-better?"

Dean frowns, pulling out the bandages and walking over. "You'll get better Sam. Don't plan on the worst. And what if you don't? Would that be so bad? You're breathing. Alive. It could have been a lot worse."

Sam shrugs, still not looking up. "I w-won't be able to t-talk to twinses." He huffs. "W-wi…"

"Witnesses." Dean sighs. "Sam, talking to people isn't a two person job. It'll be fine. If I have to be the one to do all of the talking, I'll do it."

Sam lifts his head up as Dean touches his head to start wrapping it. He holds statue still. They don't talk again until Dean is done, Sam pulling his beanie right back on. He gives Dean a reassuring smile when he sees him frowning. "P-pat-padding."

Dean sighs. "Okay. Just… don't let this control you, man."

Sam tilts his head.

"Like that. Talk to me. I don't care how long it takes for you to get a sentence out. Just don't cut me off. And don't hide around me. I don't mind if your hair isn't even or whatever. Just…"

Sam reaches out, hand gently wrapping around Dean's forearm before he can turn away. He smiles softly up at him. "Okay. B-but I real-ly like the h-hat."

Dean smiles back. "I'm glad." He turns to put the supplies away before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed himself. He takes a much needed shower, hurrying in case Sam needs him. He still doesn't trust the head injury to not give Sam problems the hospital didn't anticipate.

Sam is laying down when Dean walks to his own bed, opening his eyes to smile reassuringly when he hears him walk over. Dean rarely ever takes fast showers. He knows his brother is still worried. "I'm okay."

Dean shrugs, getting into his own bed. "Just let me know if you wake up hurting in the night. Okay? I'll get you your drugs."

Sam chuckles. "Okay."

Dean finally relaxes as he reaches over to turn of the remaining lamp by his bed. "Night, Sam."

"Night."

Surprisingly, they both sleep soundly.

It's the morning that sucks. Dean wakes up to Sam groaning his name, eyes snapping open and turning to see his brother's face, pale next to the cream colored sheets. He's practically curled up in them. "Shit. You alright?" He jumps up to go get the bottle of strong pills.

"H-head sup-ploading."

"Exploding," Dean corrects gently, shaking his head. "And no it's not. Here." He hands him two pills and a bottle of water. When he sees Sam struggle to sit up and gets dizzy while doing so, he curses sharply but reaches out to steady him with an arm around his shoulders. "Easy. Go slow."

Sam leans heavily into him, trusting Dean to hold him up while he focuses on getting the pills down. Knows it's his only hope of feeling better. "God. K-klil-ling me." He downs the pills and half of the water bottle before falling more into Dean. "H-hope they kick in sin. Soon."

Dean chuckles. "I like your word mixing."

Sam rolls his eyes, not moving to extricate himself from Dean's hold. He feels comfortable here. Safe. "You wi-would."

"It's fun," Dean says, patting Sam's arm where his hand is resting. "As soon as you're feeling up to it, we need to scram. Find a place to set up in before meeting your doctor. A nicer hotel I suppose. Since we'll be there for a little longer than usual. And I'll have to get a job."

"Me too."

Dean sighs. "Only if you're up to it. I'll do fine on my own. Until your head is better, I'd prefer if you didn't. Okay?"

Sam sighs. "Okay." He doesn't really want to think about what kind of job he could get without being able to talk clearly anyway. As soon as the dizziness and blinding pain leave, Sam starts helping gather their stuff. Within a half hour, they're on the road.

"Whenever you're hungry for breakfast let me know. We'll sit down somewhere. Don't want the movement of the car added to the pain in your head to make you sick."

Sam chuckles. "Wheveren." _Whenever._ Sam sighs, frustrated.

Dean smiles. "Relax. I can mentally translate. An hour or so good for you? Whenever I find something?"

Sam nods. He lets his knee fall over to bump Deans. "Thanks."

"Not something I haven't ever done before."

Sam turns to him. "Huh?"

Dean chuckles. "You mixed up words when you were little too. Right before your brain exploded and you got smarter than me."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Jerk."

Dean laughs. "Bitch."

Things revert back to normal for a while. Unless there was something pressing on Sam's mind, he doesn't talk much in the car so things seem to take a break from the unusual. They have the windows down in what is a fairly mild fall day, but the sun is warm to contrast the cool air so Sam didn't mind. Just let his head lean against the window edge and feel the breeze.

After breakfast, where Dean ordered for him with no complaint, Dean turns up the radio and sings along, laughing when Sam throws a wadded napkin at the side of his face. He punches his brother in the shoulder, turning the radio up even more with a grin.

Sam just rolls his eyes.

They don't stop for lunch, going through a drive through and going straight back on the highway afterwards, music being turned up to full volume again. Sam steals some of Dean's fries, only to throw them at Dean's face until he finally turns the music down to keep the Impala from getting punished for teasing Sam. He huffs at Sam's laugh, barely able to keep an answering smile back. As long as Sam is still laughing, things are okay.

They get to the city before dinner, finding the building where Sam will be meeting his speech therapist and locating the hospital before driving only ten minutes out of town to a quieter place to find a hotel. They find a nicer one right on the edge of where the city seems to dissipate into the country.

"How about this one? Looks nice. Away from city traffic and right down the road from a bar and a gas station."

Sam rolls his eyes. Of course a bar would have to be in that equation. "It's f-fine." He climbs out when Dean parks. "I'll un-l-load."

Dean gets them a room, coming back to pick up his bags before they go to their room. "Got a bottom floor suite. Kitchen, bedroom, living room. They only have two rooms like that. We're lucky one was open. Figured if we're going to be here for a while, might as well get a bigger place to stay."

Sam smiles. It doesn't really surprise him that Dean is thinking this all through. It really does make it sound less daunting though. He chuckles when Dean opens the door and they walk in. "N-nice change."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, well I thought we might want a kitchen. Don't want you bitching about getting tired of diner food."

Sam grins to himself, heading to the bedroom. He stops inside the door.

Dean comes up behind him. "Oh… right. This room only has one bed. I figured everything else was more important than this. So we can share if you think it's big enough. Or… I can sleep on the couch if you want."

Sam shakes his head, reaching back to touch Dean's arm. "Not lit-let-ing you hurt your n-neck," he says, rolling his eyes. "The bed is h-huge."

Dean shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. "If you're sure." He drops his duffel on the closer side of the bed.

It isn't lost on Sam that Dean still puts himself between Sam and the door. It makes him smile. He walks over to drop his own duffel on the bed.

"You're appointment with the therapist is in an hour. You wana take a nap?"

Sam gives Dean a grateful smile. It's been a long day, and the pounding in his head has never fully gone away, even with his dose of pills in the afternoon. Not that he told Dean. Even when it hurt a little more from the loud music. He was just glad to see him smiling. "Pills?"

Dean nods, pulling the bottle from his pocket and looking at his watch. "It's only a few minutes early than you're allowed. I don't think that will hurt you." He pours a few out and hands them to Sam, pulling one of the many water bottles he's kept in his duffel for this very use today.

Sam downs the pills, letting out a sigh of relief at the thought of the pain not getting much worse than this. The painkillers will work soon.

Dean takes the bottle from Sam, setting it on the table by the bed before gently reaching up to tilt Sam's face down to him. He inspects the bruise by his eye, bluish-green now in color. Massages the area gently, knowing it's the edge of the epicenter of pain. "Hurting too much today?"

Sam's eyes fall closed at the gentle touch, letting out a soft puff of air at the relief it immediately causes. He shakes his head a little. "I'm fine."

Dean lets his fingers slide from Sam's face, regretting having to do so. "Well… get some rest. Then you'll be feeling even better to learn English again," Dean teases.

Sam rolls his eyes, climbing into the bed. He barely remembers his head hitting the pillow.

* * *

Dean hates shrinks. Hates therapists. Doesn't matter what kind. He hates anyone who thinks they can figure him out. Or Sam, for that matter. Because Dean has never been able to fully figure Sam out, so why should someone else think they have the right to say they do?

He found this out way back when Sam had to talk to the guy about the haunted asylum. After the case was over Sam finally got Dean, who was extra stubborn back then, to talk about what happened inside the asylum. And his meeting with the doctor came up. Along with it, came so much depression and confusion from Sam about his own thoughts or choices that Dean wanted to go punch the guy.

He'd set Sam straight of course. Telling him that no one should think they can understand anything about their lives. Not without knowing every single little complicated detail. It helped a little. At least Sam stopped freaking out about his own choices and started only freaking out about making sure Dean knew Sam would never really shoot him. That wasn't much fun either.

This therapist though, Dean might be able to stand. For one, it helps that he happens to drive the classic Nova out front. Yeah, Dean has his priorities. Also, he's just a speech therapist. Not exactly what Dean would see as someone who thinks they know Sam better than Dean does. Looking to be around Dean's age might also help. He's a younger, good looking-guy. Not some old man who can barely remember words himself.

It gets even better when he introduces himself. "I'm very laid back with my patients. I believe that one-on-one has to be equal on a social level, not a patient-teacher thing. Call me Keith. Not Doctor Keith. Not Doctor Michaels. And definitely not Mr. Michaels. That was my father."

Dean chuckles. "Fair enough."

Keith grins. "So…" He opens the manila folder in front of him. "I'm assuming you," he looks to Sam, "are Robert."

"S-Sam," Sam corrects.

Dean nods. "He likes his middle name better."

Keith chuckles, nodding. "You look more like a Sam, anyway." He looks to Dean. "And you are…"

"Dean. His brother."

Keith nods. "Got it. Okay. Let's get right to it then. I have the gist here in your file from the hospital, but go ahead and tell me exactly what's going on with you. I understand you're having some trouble talking."

Sam nods. "N-no-thing c-coming out ro-right."

Dean holds up a hand to interject. "Can I answer for him if I know what he'd say? Make it easier for him? He says it's exhausting trying to talk clearly."

Keith frowns, but nods. "That should be fine. If Sam agrees that's exactly what the answer should be."

Sam nods, reaching out to lay his hand on Dean's shoulder. "M-mind r-read-er." He grins when Dean laughs.

"Hardly. But I'm pretty good at understanding you." He turns back to the doctor. "Fire away. We're ready to figure this out."

Keith starts out with a few questions. About the stuttering, the garbled words, and how often each happen. Keith is surprised at how well Dean seems to be able to describe the condition, summing up in a few sentences to really help him answer his own questions and determine what tests he needs to have Sam take.

"He seems to stutter only when he's trying to take his time and figure out a word. Unless it's just at the beginning of a word. The prolonged stuttering is him trying to figure out a word. If the word just comes out wrong, it's because he's not trying to figure it out. Even if he knows it's coming out wrong. He just wants to keep the conversation going."

Sam nods his agreement.

Keith makes notes. "Well… looks like we might be able to pinpoint this fairly quickly." He begins the tests. Writing. Reading. Talking. He determines that Sam writes clearly, reads fine in his head but twists words when spoken out loud, and understands spoken speech just fine. After an hour or so, he decides he doesn't need to do anymore tests.

"Well there's a lot of good news with this."

Dean looks to Sam. "Wow. That's new for us."

Sam gives him a small, crooked smile.

"It's not Aphasia, or you may not be able to understand our speech or may not be able to write clearly. It's a more specific kind of disorder. Apraxia of speech."

Dean frowns. "Disorder?"

Keith holds up his hands in a calming gesture, smart enough to have already determined Dean's protectiveness of Sam. "Just the word we have to use. Disorders can be caused by injuries. It doesn't imply anything about the person."

Sam reaches over to pat Dean's arm. "S'okay."

Keith continues. "The fact that it's just his speech that's affected is encouraging. Along with how he _knows_ it's coming out wrong. That maybe with speech therapy and the healing of the brain, his speech may go back to normal."

Dean's hand clenches the arm of his chair. "Maybe?"

Sam's hand tightens where it's still resting on Dean's arm. His worried eyes meet Keith's.

Faced with the infamous puppy eyes, Keith sighs. "Everyone is different. Speech Therapy isn't absolute. But it does help most people. We can set up appointments. Get going on the therapy and take it one day at a time. Even if the going is slow now, he might be able to recover his speech as his brain heals itself. It's up to you how long you want to continue the therapy in sessions, and when you want to just start doing what you can at home."

Dean looks to Sam. "Whatever you want, Sam. We'll do it."

"W-wi-worth a sh-shot," Sam answers. He turns to Keith. "A m-month." He looks to Dean for elaboration.

Dean nods. "Sam wants to try for a month. See if coming in and working with you will help. If it doesn't, or eventually evens out in progress, we'll start doing it on our own." He shrugs. "No use paying for what won't help."

Keith nods. "I understand. And I hope things go well." He smiles at Sam. "I guess I'll start scheduling you in a few times a week then. And we'll talk about payments later," he adds, turning to Dean. "I know it's a lot, but we have some pretty good payment plans."

Dean nods. "I'll pay whatever I have to." _To help Sam_, he doesn't say aloud.

Sam hears it loud and clear. He smiles to himself.


End file.
